


your sandcastle (has met my wave)

by cynistralstars



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Art School, Explicit Language, Flirting, Hongjoong uses he/they pronouns, I don't specifically say it's Jongho but it is, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Nobody Actually Dies, Other, Spies & Secret Agents, They don't actually drink anything by the way, bartending, but he does identify as male, except maybe seonghwa's dignity, explicit flirting, he was an assassin. he was an art student. what else do i have to say, it's just mentioned, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:33:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28341720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cynistralstars/pseuds/cynistralstars
Summary: Or, how Seonghwa falls out of a skyscraper, through someone’s window, and half in love with that very someone. Grab your popcorn, motherfuckers. Hongjoong doesn’t know what’s going on; I’ve kindly extended both you and myself the same courtesy.
Relationships: Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa, mentioned Jeong Yunho/Song Mingi - Relationship
Comments: 9
Kudos: 59





	your sandcastle (has met my wave)

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas, Jax! This is a Secret Santa gift for a lovely person, but I will admit that this was a bit rushed due to me not actually being a participant (I organized it) until about 3/4ths of the way through. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy some dumb Seongjoong fluff and secret agents meet civvies crack.
> 
> Love you!

Seonghwa knew two things.

  1. He was _not_ supposed to have ended up in a random person’s home after the mission went wrong.
  2. ...He had ended up in a random person’s home after the mission went wrong.



So, all in all, his day was going  _ splendidly. _

The civvie had done a shocked double take when they first saw him before opening their mouth as if to scream for help. Panicked, Seonghwa had clapped a hand over the other’s lips, stifling the sound before it could escape. It wasn’t long before he felt the bite of sharp, indignant teeth, dropping the hand from the man’s face with a muffled curse into his sleeve.

“Shh,” he hissed, “I’ll explain everything  _ really soon _ and pay you back for anything I damage but please,  _ please _ , for both of our sakes, keep quiet!”

His newfound companion stared at him like he was crazy.

“Are you  _ out of your fucking mind, mate? _ ” the shorter had spat, eyes flickering from the wounded agent to the door like he thought he could make a break for it if they ran fast enough.

Seonghwa grinned slightly, wincing at the press of his teeth against sore gums, torn from slamming his face into hard surfaces a few too many times. He leaned back against the granite counter, relishing the welcome feel of cold, smooth rock, and sighed heavily.

“Probably,” he responded, lackadaisical. “But if they figure out I’m here they’ll kill us both, so I would suggest remaining still and stoic; I got you into this mess, and I’m gonna do my darndest to getcha out.”

“What is this, goddamn  _ Skyfall _ ?” his newfound companion muttered under their breath, pacing back and forth on the cherrywood floor. “Seriously, man, what the hell’s goin’ on here? Honestly startin’ to think someone hired you to kill me. Although that wouldn’t make much sense, cause, you know, who hires an assassin--or whatever the hell you are besides hot as  _ hell _ \--to off some random art student? I mean, I guess you know, because you are the person being hired to kill me--or, well,  _ not  _ being hired to kill me, but semantics, right?”

Seonghwa stared, stunned into absolute silence as he gaped at this small powerhouse currently ranting about mercenaries and some comparison to a  _ James Bond _ movie, which was honestly just kind of insulting.

“Do you require oxygen to function?” he demanded, eyeing his woebegotten host curiously. “Genuinely, did you take a single breath during that entire monologue?”

(Pointedly, Seonghwa ignored the “hot as hell comment.” Pointedly, he pretended he wasn’t blushing to high Heaven).

The newly-christened “art student” blinked up at him, wind whipped out of his sails with a single sad puff. As he stared up at Seonghwa, suddenly, the agent realized just how  _ small _ the other was compared to him. He definitely didn’t like it.

No way.

“Proper respiration is for capitalists, rich people, and idiots with time to kill,” the homeowner scoffed, “all three if you’re feeling generous. Ain’t nobody got time for that shit in college, what d’ya mean? You see what I’m wearing, ‘n think I’m in any of those categories?”

Seonghwa looked down to see what, in fact, his companion was wearing, and immediately blushed an even darker crimson, the carmine colour staining his cheekbones and bleeding under his eyes. This made the other look down at their own attire, too, and instantly they were both matching, swathes of rosy red blooming on the shorter’s face. With more effort than he cared to admit, Seonghwa tore his eyes away from miles of collarbone and pale, smooth legs exposed by a soft, paint-stained shirt and short black sleeping-shorts.

“Oh--fuck it all to hell--that’s not what I meant! Forget the fuckin’--forget the clothes--Jesus. Can we start over? Let’s start over. We’re gonna start over. Hi, random creepy murderer in my kitchen, or what passes for a kitchen ‘round here, I’m Hongjoong. Nice to meet you, I guess. If you’re goin’ to kill me can you get it over with, please? I’mma be real with you, man--are you a man? Actually, that was really rude of me to assume, oh my god. I identify as male, and I use he/they pronouns interchangeably. How ‘bout you? That aside, what I was gonna say was, if you’re going to kill me, at this point, I’m thinkin’ be my guest because then, not only do I get to do the cliché-ass thing where I ask if this is Heaven cause you sure as hell look like an angel to me, I also don’t have to take exams next week! Win-win on my part,”  _ Hongjoong _ said brightly, word-vomiting more violently than Seonghwa had ever seen even Wooyoung do. 

“I...I’m Mars?” Seonghwa said hesitantly, not sure if he should give up his real name to this wonderful Fae being he had accidentally stumbled upon. “Uh, he/him is fine...I’m not going to kill you, promise. I just accidentally,” he winced, “fell through your window? I swear I didn’t mean to, I can pay to replace it and everything--”

He was cut off by Hongjoong waving a dismissive hand.

“Nah, nah, don’t worry about it,” they said noncommittally, “one of my friends works on the...let’s just say,  _ shadier _ side of things. I can tell Yunnie there was gang activity ‘round here and they’ll help me get it fixed for free.”

Seonghwa narrowed his eyes. Something about this “Yunnie'' of Hongjoong’s wasn’t sitting just right.

“Yunnie…” he said cautiously, watching warily as Hongjoong’s eyes flared at the repeated nickname. “That, uh, wouldn’t...that wouldn’t happen to be Jeong Yunho, formerly of the Seoul Police Academy, would it?”

It was now Hongjoong’s turn to stand, openmouthed and shocked, leaning against the chilly granite of a dusty kitchenette for support. 

“How do you know Yunho?” they demanded indignantly, crossing bare arms across a thin chest. 

Seonghwa laughed indulgently, his entire face lighting up. 

“His boyfriend’s a...close acquaintance of mine,” the taller explained. “Small world, innit?”

Hongjoong glared half-heartedly at him, rolling their eyes as if he was far more annoyed with Seonghwa than he appeared to be.

“Oh, a ‘close acquaintance,’” he mocked, finger quoting Seonghwa’s words. “It’s fine, Mars, honey, you can just say he works with your murder group, I get it, blah blah blah secret identities, blah blah blah.”

Seonghwa ignored that comment, choosing instead to just scuff his booted feet against the linoleum floor, suddenly awkward as he rubbed at his neck half on instinct.

Hongjoong suddenly whirled 180 degrees, slipping a little in his fluffy, French bulldog-adorned socks as they darted to the most advanced appliance in their tiny kitchen—the coffeemaker.

(Because of course, Seonghwa thought, of  _ course _ this little gremlin was a caffeine connoisseur. Really, what did he expect? The artist was as hyperactive as the puppies dancing around their socks, and at this point it was like,  _ 3 in the morning. _ )

Hongjoong whipped around once more, grinning brightly at him.

“So!” he said jubilantly, throwing their arms open wide as the fabric of his oversized  _ SNSD _ shirt flapped against a flat, nicely tanned stomach that Seonghwa was definitely  _ not _ eyeing. “Can I get you anything to drink, mystery murder man? I’ve decided you’re not going to kill me, because that would make Yunho sad and honestly, that’s just a  _ crime _ , so obviously you wouldn’t do that. Or maybe you would, but I’ve accepted that possibility and I’m ignoring that. Do you prefer tea, cocoa, or coffee?”

Seonghwa raised a single, judgemental eyebrow as he pondered Hongjoong’s inquiry. He valiantly tried crossing his own arms across his significantly broader chest, but winced when he shoved an elbow into his definitely bruised, probably broken ribs.

This, of course, did not go unnoticed by Hongjoong’s apparent eagle eyes, and immediately the shorter narrowed his strangely observant peepers at the elder.

“So,” he once again said, this time wry and sarcastic, “how’re you holding up? One can only assume you did not, in fact, mean to...ah, inadvertently enter my home through some rather contrary means? And that  _ would  _ mean you not only crash-landed through my window—which, by the way, props to you for avoiding my canvas on the floor, very kind—you  _ also _ fell out of somewhere, likely due to some kind of outside force?” they asked, smirking proudly at his deductions.

Seonghwa scoffed, twisting his tongue around his split lip absentmindedly. 

“Don’t look so proud of yourself, Walmart Sherlock Holmes,” he said amusedly. “Yeah, I hurt a couple of my ribs on the way down. I don’t suppose you have any Advil lying around? Bag of peas? Honestly, I’d go for an Ace wrap at this point.”

Hongjoong stuck his own tongue through an (admittedly adorable) gap in their teeth, evidently thinking hard. They paced the length of their kitchen absentmindedly and a little frantically, as if they couldn’t stop himself. Seonghwa, finally relaxing a little, deigned to pull out one of the two tiny stools at the equally minuscule counter and swing long, exhausted legs over worn, well-loved wood. As his apparent nighttime host seemed to come to a decision, he spun around and pointed slightly awkward finger guns at Seonghwa before immediately dropping them and blushing a vibrant pink colour.

“Oh...fuck me, ignore that, I’m so socially stunted,” Hongjoong bemoaned, half-flopping onto the counter like a fish out of water with an arm dramatically flung across their eyes for extra theatrical effect. “I have come to the stunning conclusion that I, as the high-functioning human I am, lack literally any kind of pain meds or ice packs whatsoever. I do, however, have vodka and an extensive knowledge of mixed drinks. Care for a Black Russian? Screwdriver? I think I’ve got the orange juice for a great screwie.”

Seonghwa barely stifled a laugh, politely clapping a hand to his mouth to hide his giggles. At Hongjoong’s questioning (and slightly offended) stare, he quickly elaborated on his comedic enjoyment.

“A screwie? You’ve got a screwie for me?” he said, entirely amused like the perfectly mature 22-year-old he was.

Hongjoong’s former rose blush returned in full force, bright cherry flushing his cheeks a gorgeous carmine. They giggled, high and clear like the tinkling of the wind chimes Mingi hung in the armory, and Seonghwa wasn’t sure he’d ever heard something so beautiful.

“Sh-shut up!” they said indignantly. “That’s not—it’s not—the drink is a— _ Mars! _ ”

The last word was whiny and performatively plaintive, and, like the highly trained assassin he was, Seonghwa just couldn’t resist teasing Hongjoong again.

“I didn’t hear a  _ no, _ ” he said invitingly, sprawling an elbow comfortably across Hongjoong’s counter. “What, is the kitchen not good enough for you? We can go to the bedroom, baby,” he bantered, batting his eyelashes at his pajama-clad host.

The blush darkened to something of a worrying degree, a crimson so vibrant Seonghwa wondered how such a small body could store so much colour. Hongjoong practically  _ screeched _ with embarrassment, ears flaming as scarlet as his cheeks. It was the first time all night he’d been even remotely speechless, and Seonghwa was secretly a little proud of himself.

(Sue him, he wasn’t much of a talker usually. This was the most he’d talked all month).

Hongjoong seemed to take a deep breath in and collect himself, not unlike a flustered Victorian lady in his regain of his composure. As they blew out his breath, they straightened up, turning to Seonghwa with a coquettish expression of his own, basically screaming “ _ Two can play that game _ ” at a frozen Seonghwa. Hongjoong, realizing the effect this evidently had on him, had leaned across their own side of the tiny counter, practically shoving his sharp features into Seonghwa’s space.

“I mean, I’m all open to the bedroom, honey, but I don’t think it would go  _ quite _ like you planned, sweetie,” Hongjoong purred, pressing ever closer to him as he blushed manically. “You see, Mars,  _ baby _ , I don’t do too well with authority, yeah? See, but I think you’re quite the opposite, little panther. I think you’d  _ love _ to have someone tell you what to do, honey, huh? How about it?”

Seonghwa fucking  _ short-circuited _ , brain going completely blank as he stared openmouthed at the beautiful artist. The loose collar of the paint stained shirt he wore had fallen open as he leaned forward, exposing miles of pale skin just begging to be marked up. Distantly, he recognized that he was being manipulated here. Pointedly, he refused to care. Secret agent lost off of a mission or not, this easy, over-friendly comradery was the best social interaction he’d had in weeks, possibly months. There was no room for sentiment in his job, but here, under the mood lighting of cheap tea lights bouncing off of colours splattered liberally around a tiny kitchen, here was  _ safe.  _

“I--uh--” he spluttered, red blush high on his cheeks and slowly clambering up his neck and ears as his eyes crinkled in joyous embarrassment. “I don’t--you didn’t--we just-- _ um _ .

Hongjoong’s self-satisfied grin only grew, the art student looking more and more like a cat who’d caught the canary every second as crimson-stained lips revealed sharp teeth.They blew a nonchalant kiss at the agent before turning back around, hair that Seonghwa somehow just noticed was dyed a vibrant red flying in a scarlet halo around him as he returned to the far-too-complex coffeemaker.

“I’m going to make myself a Cosmo, that got heated fucking  _ fast _ ,” he said pleasantly. “Like I said, I have four years of advanced bartending under my belt and some truly lovely vodka that was a birthday gift from my other best friend. So, once again, Marsie, what’ll it be? Honestly I would recommend the Screwdriver, middle school jokes aside, I make great fruit-and-vodka mixed drinks.” 

Seonghwa laughed, airy and free and sounding like he was drunk before he even touched any of this supposed vodka.

“Call me Seonghwa,” he grinned. “I’d love a screwie from you, Hongjoong.”

_ Fin. _

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, Jax. Not totally your style, but let’s be real, I was on a bit of a time crunch. It’s my first fic, you’re, like, legally obligated to be nice. LMAO. Not really. Tell me if it sucks; I genuinely want to know. It’s all dialogue, but really, we knew how this was going before the doc was ever created. Licked before we started; damned if we do, damned if we don’t. Just so you know, I think I’m gonna write a sequel to this. Who knows. I’m kind of in love with Joongie.


End file.
